


Lost Sparrow

by VinnyGothika



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), sparbossa - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Heavy Petting, M/M, Making Out, Slight Smut, Violent Thoughts, hector's point of view, pirates of the caribbean - Freeform, sensuaility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinnyGothika/pseuds/VinnyGothika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>why am I writing this..... writers block for other stuff, needed to write angst. </p>
<p>From Barbossa's point of view</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Sparrow

Jealousy can be a vicious bitch, digging past one’s heart into their very soul, and it was slowly claiming another victim. The bottle ran with hairline cracks as his long nailed hand gripped onto it tighter. The rum sloshed as he brought it up for another hearty drink, only a slight burn not registered by so many years downing it like water. His shoulders taut with rage, and his blue hues swirled with a storm. He watched every movement, every touch from a side glance. The two huddled together against the stone wall outside the pub.

The Captain ignored the slender hand on his thigh of the wench next to him, no matter how much she prodded and stroked, his eyes wouldn’t leave that former Commodore’s touch on what he’d claimed years ago. His little bird laughing and smirking as James’ hands wandered to his waist, over curves he knew as sun kissed and tattooed. Barbossa managed to yank his gaze away and his teeth clenched enhancing his sneer. When Viola, or Verona…. what-have-you attempted kisses to his neck he pushed her away slapping a few coins into her hand before sending her on her way. The blond looked somewhat hurt, but Hector’s gaze had already wandered back to the sparrow and the rogue commodore. Jack’s head tilted back as he sighed with each nip to the column of his neck.

The last of the drink went unnoticed on his tongue and the bottle shattered on the pier, just loud enough to make a set of chocolate whiskey hues turn his direction. Sparrow seemed to make it a point to stroke his hand over the back of Norrington’s neck, as the younger devoured the flesh of his clavicle with licks and hickeys. He knew too well that he was being watched, and moaned lowly as the scruffy navy man cupped a hand over his crotch. Hector felt his blood boiling and his hands clenched tightly, nails biting into his palms as Jack had the audacity to smile at him, while lust floated in his eyes for another man.

There was so much he could do, two ways to play it out. Walk away with the roil of anger evident, trying his best to ignore the sick turning of his gut….. or stride over and take what was rightfully his, rip Jack from that youth’s hands and show him what a real man was capable of, and if bloodshed was needed then so be it. After all it wouldn’t be the first time he killed for the other man. He didn’t care, he didn’t want to care, but the torch fires of Tortuga behind them glinted and shone over Jack’s lovely deep skin, tanned darker by the sun of so many years. Those eyes that always made him furious and wanting at the same time, Captain Jack Sparrow was like a bad habit, that he’d never had any intention of breaking. This man was a habit he’d protect, keep as routine, even at the cost of what little sanity he may have left.

However way he sliced it with his cutlass though his sparrow had proved he wouldn’t be caged or dropped for long, he always found his way back. From that island twice, from the mutiny, from death itself even. Hector realized only then, as Jack gasped, arching into the rubbing at his crotch, that his long nails were drawing blood from his palms. His grey coat swung behind him in a flurry as he was up on his boots, shoulders to the scene of that arrogant boy with his hands all over his history.

The dreadlocked beauty he many times had touched with a such intensity, as they tried so hard not to rouse the crew with their sighs and groans from the captain’s cabin. He knew where Jack had been, he knew he’d lain with many, and every time the glass cut a little deeper. With each cut of glass he became colder with the arctic seas for a soul. He may have been foolish to hold this lingering wisp of a candle for so many years, despite his cruelty and jabs against the man. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t stay and watch as Jack shared himself with anyone and everyone.

For a single moment Barbossa yearned for the pure lack of feeling that had come joined with the curse. His boots felt heavier as he attempted escape of the dark haired siren that haunted him. Perhaps he should have thrown himself off that ship those years ago instead of Jack.

Yet still, he knew he could never resist seeing the man again, no matter how much he writhed in the hold of other men. Jack was his sin, and his redemption, and it left him hungry for a dream so long dead the sea had swallowed its very bones. The sparrow laughed like a bird song and as Hector disappeared into the chaos of the Tortuga streets, he could only resign himself to the fact that the touch of un-death would taste sweeter than this torture.


End file.
